Consolidation
by Clara Barton
Summary: The improvement of a player's position by the reposition of one or more pieces to better square(s), typically after a player's attack or combination has left his pieces in poor positions or uncoordinated.


A/N: Just wanted to write a quick one-shot before going back to work tomorrow morning.

Also… I know nothing about chess, but I did look up some terms:

According to wikipedia (font of all knowledge) Consolidation means:

The improvement of a player's position by the reposition of one or more pieces to better square(s), typically after a player's attack or combination has left his pieces in poor positions or uncoordinated.

Warnings: angst, language, violence, sex… mention of character death

Pairings: 1x2x3

_Consolidation_

Duo was in the med bay again.

It had become almost routine by this point - he returned from each new mission injured, wrapped in bandages or bleeding all over himself or walking into Preventers HQ with the measured, overly cautious steps of someone who was staying conscious through sheer force of will alone.

Trowa looked through the window of the med bay, took in Duo's bare, pale chest and the bandage over his right side and imagined what the freshly closed incision looked like under that bandage.

His lung had been pierced by shrapnel, and the on-call surgeon had expressed shock that Duo was even _alive_.

Trowa waited until he could control his breathing, waited for his heartbeat to steady and slow before he stepped into the recovery room.

Duo's eyes were closed, the skin purple and nearly translucent and Trowa knew that he hadn't slept for days and that this - the drugged sleep he had been forced into - would only result in Duo fighting through nightmares and memories and that when he did wake he would try to rip out his IV and the electrodes monitoring him.

Trowa pulled a chair close to the bed. He sat in it and put the black, leather case down on the nightstand and he waited for the right moment.

Hours passed before Duo drew in a deep, shuddering gasp of air and Trowa reached out for him, gripping his left hand tightly.

Duo stiffened, his entire body going rigid, but then he returned Trowa's grip, squeezing so that Trowa knew he registered the contact.

"How long have I been out?" Duo's first question. Always his first question.

"You were already unconscious when they brought you in yesterday," Trowa told him and Duo sighed in irritation before he rolled his head over and stared at Trowa.

"It wasn't -"

"We agreed to never lie," Trowa interrupted him, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "Do _not_ tell me it wasn't that bad."

Duo swallowed hard, held his gaze for a long, tense moment and then his lips turned upwards.

"Okay. It was pretty fucking bad I guess."

"You almost died."

"I _always_ almost die," Duo muttered. "That's why you send _me_ on these damn missions."

Trowa nodded in agreement.

Any other agent _would_ have died. Duo was the only field agent the Preventers had capable of neutralizing terrorist threats that reached a critical point.

Duo's eyes flickered to the nightstand.

"My turn to start black?" Duo asked.

Trowa nodded again and picked up the case on the nightstand. He opened it, pulled out the velvet bags containing the chess pieces and then flattened the chess board out on the bed.

"What are we playing for this time?" Duo asked as they set up their pieces.

"You," Trowa said.

Duo frowned, but he didn't ask for any clarification because he knew Trowa wouldn't give it.

Their chess games were part of the routine. Duo returned from missions on the verge of death and Trowa waited for him to wake up, held his hand and reminded him he was safe and they played chess so that Trowa didn't have to say all of the things he couldn't and Duo could hide from his mortality and Trowa's anger.

Trowa won quickly, ruthlessly and efficiently. In part it was because Duo's head was still muddled by the drug cocktail still coursing through his body, but Trowa had planned this game for hours while he waited for the surgery to end, waited to know if Duo would live.

"Guess this means I'm yours," Duo joked weakly when Trowa picked up the black king.

"No. This means you're fired, Agent Maxwell. Effective immediately, you are no longer a special agent for the Preventers."

Duo's eyes widened, then narrowed into a dangerous glare.

"You don't have the authority to fire me," Duo said, teeth clenched together.

"I'm your superior," Trowa reminded him.

"Bullshit. I don't report to you, I report to -"

"Une has already signed the paperwork."

Duo looked away, turning his head to the ceiling, shutting Trowa out.

"You can't take this away from me, Trowa. I _have_ to do this."

"It doesn't matter how many terrorist plots you stop, it won't bring Heero back," Trowa whispered.

He saw the long column of Duo's throat work as Duo swallowed.

"I know that," he said, his voice raw.

"And one day _you_ won't come back," Trowa continued.

Duo remained silent, and Trowa risked touching him. He traced the tattoo on Duo's left ring finger, three lines tangled together.

"I can't lose you too," Trowa said.

Duo's fingers dug into the sheets.

"Please."

Duo sighed and turned his hand, palm up, and Trowa laced their fingers together.

"So I'm just supposed to sit at home while you save the world?" Duo asked, his voice almost steady.

"No. I resigned."

Duo looked at him, a question in his eyes.

They had joined together, the three of them, two years after the wars ended, when Relena was assassinated while visiting an L2 colony and it became clear to them that the fighting would never really end.

Preventers was the only thing they had left of Heero - the work he had given his life for, the halls he had walked down, the briefing rooms he had sat in, the gym he had sweated in.

"I thought we could go to Mars," Trowa suggested, staring back at Duo.

Duo swallowed hard and blinked back tears.

"Heero always wanted to go to Mars," he managed to say.

Trowa nodded in agreement.

It had been the night all of this started. They were on the roof of the building sharing a bottle of expensive whiskey Duo had stolen from some fat, old analyst while they avoided filling out paperwork and mission debriefings.

Duo had pointed out the dull glimmer of the red planet and Heero had said he dreamed of it, of the promise of a new start for humanity, of hope.

Trowa had pointed out that no matter how many chances _they_ gave humanity, it never changed.

Duo had crawled into his lap, taken a swig from the whiskey bottle and kissed him before pointing out that humans changed all of the fucking time.

And then Heero tugged on Duo's hair, pulling his head close and kissing him until Trowa could feel his cock harden and Trowa had pointed out that there were security cameras on the roof.

"Mars is good," Duo said. "Heero would want us to go."

Trowa looked back at him, at those endless blue eyes that had seen too much.

"He always hoped we would," Trowa agreed.


End file.
